"Yes."
I kept staring at him. "Some of the court dogs can do that, but I've never heard of a sidhe having the ability."
"As Sholto said, there are benefits to not being pure sidhe. He can re-grow a severed body part, and I can lick your wound until it is healed."
I didn't try to keep the incredulity off my face. "If you were any other guard I'd accuse you of looking for an excuse to put your mouth on me."
He smiled, and this time it was brighter, more humor in it. "If my fellow Ravens were trying to trick you into this, it would not be your arm they were wanting to touch."
I had to smile. "You've made your point. All right, get the bleeding stopped if you can. I really don't want to go to the emergency room tonight." I dropped my arm from his shoulder.
"Proceed."
He bent toward my arm, slowly, talking as he moved. "I will try to make it as painless as possible." His breath was almost burningly hot against my skin, then his tongue licked lightly over the wound.
I jumped.
He rolled his eyes up to me without moving his face back from my arm. "Did I hurt you, Princess?"
I shook my head, not sure I trusted my voice.
He bent back to the wound. He licked the length of the wound twice, very slowly, then his tongue slid inside the wound. The pain was sharp, immediate, and it brought a gasp to my throat.
He didn't pull away this time, but pressed his mouth closer to my skin. His eyes closed, as his tongue probed the wound, bringing small sharp pain sensations like tiny electric shocks. With every small pain things low in my body tightened and released. It was as if the nerves he touched were attached to other things that had nothing to do with my arm.
He began to lick the wound in long slow movements. His eyes were still closed, and I was near enough to see the black lashes, black on black against his cheeks. There was almost no pain now, just the sensation of his tongue sliding over me. The feel of his mouth against me sped my heart, made my breath catch in my throat. His earrings caught the light, reflecting it in silver glitter as if the curve of his ears had been set in silver. Warmth began to gather at the wound. It felt very like being healed by touch now. That growing warmth, the energy vibrating against my skin, inside my skin, was almost identical.
Doyle drew back from my arm, eyes half-closed, mouth slack. He looked like he was waking from a dream, or as if he'd been interrupted in more intimate things. He released my arm, slowly, almost reluctantly.
His voice came slow, hoarse. "It has been long since I have done this. I'd forgotten how it feels to heal."
I bent my arm back so I could see the wound, and there was no wound. I touched the skin with fingertips. The skin was smooth, untouched, still damp from Doyle's tongue, still warm to the touch as if some of that magic clung to the skin. "It's perfect; there's not even a scar."
"You sound surprised."
"Pleased, more like."
He gave a small bow, still sitting on the edge of the bed. "So happy to have been of service to my princess."
"I forgot the extra pillows." I stood, and started to move toward the closet. He grabbed my wrist.
"You are bleeding."
I glanced down at my arm, and it was still healed.
"Your leg, Princess."
I looked down and found blood trickling down my right leg. "Damn."
"Lie down on the bed and let me look at the wound." He still held my wrist and tried to pull me
down on the bed.
I resisted, and he released me. "It should not still be bleeding, Princess Meredith. Let me heal it, as I did your arm. "
"It's very high upon my thigh, Doyle."
"The hag was trying to pierce your femoral artery."
"Yes "I said.
"I must insist on seeing the wound, Princess. It is too vital an area to be ignored."
"It's very high up on my thigh," I said again.
"I understand that," he said. "Now please lie down and let me look at it."
"I'm not wearing anything under this shirt," I said.
"Oh," he said. Emotions played across his face so quickly I couldn't read them, like clouds passing over a field on a windy day. Finally, he said, "Perhaps you could put something on so that I might look at the wound."
"Good idea," I said. I opened the dresser drawer that held my unmentionables. The panties, like the sleepwear, run high to satin, silk, and lace. I finally picked a pair of plain black satin, no frills, no lace, no peek-a-boo panels. It was the closest to conservative that I owned.
I glanced back at Doyle. He had turned his back on me without being asked. I slipped the underwear on, made sure the shirt was in place, and said, "You can look now."
He turned, and his face was very solemn. "Most of the court ladies would not have thought to warn me. Some to tease, and some simply because it would not occur to them to tell me. Nudity is common enough in the courts. Why did you think to tell me?"
"Some of the guards tease, play slap and tickle, and I wouldn't have warned one of them. It would be just another part of the game. But you never play the game, Doyle. You are always apart from it. To have just lain down on the bed and spread would have been... cruel."
He nodded. "Yes, it would have been. So many of the court treat those of us who remain aloof like eunuchs, as if we feel nothing. But I would rather have no touch of soft flesh than to be teased up to that point, then have no release. That is worse than nothing at all to me."
"Is the queen still refusing to even allow you to touch yourselves?"
He looked down at the ground, and I realized I had overstepped polite questioning. "My apologies, Doyle, we are not close enough for such a question."